


A Different Kind of Arrangement

by mar_map



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), EVERYONE'S HUMAN, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22392061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mar_map/pseuds/mar_map
Summary: Aziraphale really wishes that his family would stay out of his (non-existent) love life. To avoid being set up (again), Aziraphale has taken to the internet in the hopes of hiring someone to masquerade as his boyfriend for the next family holiday. Enter Crowley, the florist from down the street, ready to make some heads roll.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 91
Kudos: 536
Collections: Amazing Good Omens





	1. Day 0

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This was my contribution to the 2019 Good Omens Big Bang. It was fantastic to work on, and my partner did a fantastic job on the art which can be found at the end of Chapter 2!
> 
> Artist: Winter_Skye  
> [Instagram](https://instagram.com/winter._.skye?igshid=1n6qom3tn8sjx)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Winter__Skye?s=09)
> 
> Beta: D20Owlbear  
> [Tumblr](https://d20owlbear.tumblr.com/)

**Seeking Partner for Week-long Family Holiday**

I don’t usually do this sort of thing, but I’m quite out of sorts. My family spends a week together at our childhood home each year, and I’m not interested in them continually attempting to introduce me to potential spouses of their choosing. To thwart their efforts, I’m looking for someone aged 30 - 50 willing to accompany me as my partner to perhaps scare them a bit so they will leave me be. Must be willing to pretend to be in a serious relationship and handle yourself under pressure and scrutiny. 

-Males only

-Compensation provided (along with travel expenses)

-Serious inquiries only

* * *

Aziraphale typically saw a certain type of clientele in his bookshop; he mostly attracted a strange mix of college students and people over the age of sixty. That may have had something to do with the fact that Aziraphale didn’t stock anything that had been on any bestseller’s lists in the last decade. It didn’t much matter to him, because the people he did tend to see where regulars that he trusted, for the most part, to be around his antiques collection.

The man who had entered only a few minutes ago was both not a regular and not in Aziraphale’s usual demographic.

He was dressed from head to toe in black, pants impossibly snug around his hips, the tips of his fingers buried into shallow pockets. He hadn’t touched anything - much to Aziraphale’s relief - but he peered at the shelves, bent at the waist to better read the spines on some lower shelves. Even crouched down, Aziraphale could tell that he was tall, at least a head or two taller than Aziraphale himself.

Aziraphale moved into the aisle where the man was browsing, making himself appear busy tidying the shelves. When Aziraphale came close, he straightened up, eyes hidden behind a pair of dark mirrored sunglasses despite being inside; Aziraphale couldn’t imagine how he could possibly be able to read the titles in the dimly lit shop. 

He swallowed down a feeling of uneasiness, feeling a flash of annoyance when he noticed a takeout bag under the man’s arm. Aziraphale cleared his throat, hoping he hadn’t appeared as if he’d been watching the man distrustfully since the bell above the door had rang. “Excuse me, but I don’t allow food inside. Many of the books are antiques; I’m sure you understand.”

Instead of apologizing and hurrying to exit or even appearing the least bit bothered, the man just gave Aziraphale a cheeky smile and thrust the bag toward him. “It’s for you,” he said. “Aziraphale, right? Long name, that. Nice though.”

Aziraphale felt his eyes widen in surprise, a bit unsure and off-balance on what to do. He took the bag from the other man’s hand mechanically, noting distantly that it came from the restaurant owned by the nice Korean couple down the block. It wasn’t until he had the bag in his hand, the man still standing in front of him expectantly that Aziraphale felt his un-surefootedness turn to disappointment and annoyance.

“Did one of my brothers send you?” Aziraphale snapped. In a sudden moment of clarity, he seemed like the only logical explanation for this strange encounter. Gabriel and Michael both liked to meddle, and it certainly wouldn’t be the first time they’d sent a prospective suitor to his bookshop; it was the perfect place to send one of ‘the nice interns we have that's just perfect for you’ because it wasn’t a place he could easily slip away. To have that suitor then prey on his affinity for food was really too much.

The man’s smile didn’t dissipate but turned a bit pitying. “The opposite, actually,” he replied, reaching into the pocket of his jacket to pull out a square of paper, folded over itself and worn at the edges. He unfolded it without prompting, smoothing it out the best he could with his hands against his pant leg before shoving it under Aziraphale’s nose. “I saw your ad.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale answered dumbly. He took the page with his free hand, partly to get it out of his face, partly because he didn’t know what else to do. The man’s explanation did make more sense than the conclusion that Aziraphale had jumped to in retrospect. The man hardly looked the part of an up and coming barrister, far from anything that Gabriel or Michael would have approved of. Not that Aziraphale felt they should have any say in _his_ romantic life.

“Probably shouldn’t have put your address on it.”

“Hmm?”

“Your address,” the man said, pointing down at the page, “probably shouldn’t have put that on the ad. Or your name. Can only imagine the sorts of unsavory people you’ve had responding.”

“Oh, yes. Perhaps you’re right.” In actuality, no one had responded to his ad. He’d posted it over two weeks ago and had rather forgotten about the whole thing after the first week of silence. Well, not completely forgotten, but he’d run out of hope that someone would reply. He figured it had been buried among the other, newer requests on the various forums he’d posted it. “I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Anthony Crowley,” he replied easily, not bothering to offer his hand for Aziraphale to shake, not that Aziraphale had a spare hand. “I prefer Crowley.”

“Crowley, it’s a pleasure.” Aziraphale felt a real smile pull at his lips. Now that he knew that Crowley wasn’t some spy sent by one of his brothers - which, frankly, had been a rather outlandish conclusion to jump to - he felt rather more sure-footed. Crowley looked the exact opposite of everything his family would have approved of. It put him in the happy position of being the exact kind of person that Aziraphale had been hoping for.

“So, lunch?” Crowley pointed toward the bag still in Aziraphale’s hand.

“Sounds lovely.”

* * *

Aziraphale spent the better part of the afternoon with Crowley. He was gratified to find the Korean just as lovely as the last time he’d been to the restaurant. He found himself rather enjoying Crowley’s company as well which only added to the pleasant afternoon. Crowley was quick-witted and managed to ease Aziraphale into a welcome sense of familiarity; he coaxed Aziraphale into discussing his bookshop for much of their time together, engaging in surprisingly philosophical conversation featuring Shakespeare. Aziraphale found himself quite enjoying himself, and if no one else happened to stumble into the shop that afternoon, all the better.

“Oh, I’ve quite wasted our time, haven’t I?” Aziraphale couldn’t help but note, only realising the time when the large clock in the backroom started to chime. Most of the sound was swallowed up by the books, but Aziraphale had come to recognize it as the usual time to close up the shop. “We’ve hardly discussed what you came here for.”

“Not a problem,” Crowley responded with an easy shrug. He’d kept his glasses on all afternoon, and even now they obscured his expression. “I didn’t have anywhere else to be.” Still seeing the troubled expression on Aziraphale’s face, he added, “Quick version then; tell me about your family.”

Aziraphale straightened up in his seat, not having noticed how relaxed he’d been. His hands folded together across his lap as he studied the wooden grain of his counter. “The entire family won’t be attending the holiday, I’m certain,” Aziraphale started. “I have two brothers, Gabriel and Micahel, both married. They’re the meddlesome ones,” he couldn’t help but note, “and the most difficult to please. Gabriel and his wife have three sons. My uncles are my mother’s brothers and usually come as well. My cousin Uriel might be there; she’s currently at University, and I don’t hear about her often.” Aziraphale swallowed, worrying at the edge of the countertop. “That’s it, mostly. It doesn’t seem like much, but I find myself rather overwhelmed most years.”

“I can imagine with that many dicks in a small space. So, what do you need from me? Help keep the piranhas off your back?”

“Something like that. Gabriel constantly tells me that he’s found a ‘nice intern that’s perfect for me’, but always have to disagree. Gabriel and I’s taste in partners,” Aziraphale paused, “well, they don’t exactly align. They’re solicitors, my family.” Aziraphale said it as if it explained everything about their differences, and perhaps it did. He certainly felt as if it did, differences of opinion and all that.

“And you do this thing every year?” Crowley asked, just a hint of incredulousness in his tone, “this whole getting together and playing nice thing?”

“It’s not _playing nice_ , Crowley. It’s about spending time with family and reconnecting. All our lives are quite busy, as I’m sure you understand. We don’t see much of each other throughout the year outside of this week. Or, well, I don’t see much of them outside of it.” Aziraphale noticed his fingers soothing down the spines of one of the nearby tomes, and he forced his hands to still after noticing the anxious tick.

“Why do you even go if you don’t like them?” Crowley held up a hand, cutting off the protest that Aziraphale could already feel building in his chest. It stopped the sound quite quickly, surprising him. “And don’t tell me that you do, because the way you just said all _that_ tells me that you don’t. Besides, if you did, you wouldn’t be bringing me with you.”

“That’s a completely different situation. I can want to spend time with my family while also wanting them to stay out of my personal life.”

“Is that what I am then?” Crowley asked with a knowing smile, “your personal life?”

“Well, yes, in theory, that is the whole point of this.”

Crowley seemed to catch the agitation in his tone, leaning back in his chair and not pushing the conversation. Aziraphale felt better as he did, the physical space between them giving him room to breathe. “What do you need from me then? Show up? Ruffle some feathers?”

“Yes. I’d rather like them to believe I’m in a serious, committed relationship. If they sense that it’s not, I fear they’ll continue to pester me despite what I say to the contrary.” Heaving out a sigh, Aziraphale leaned forward. “I do understand that it’s quite a bit to ask from someone that I don’t know well. It’ll require a great deal of lying, which I’m generally opposed to, as well as some level of physical intimacy and living within close quarters for the week. That’s not to mention dealing with my family, of course, which is why I’m providing monetary compensation for your time.”

Crowley flapped his hand about in the air. “I’m not worried about the money,” to which Aziraphale gave him a surprised look that Crowley didn’t pursue. “What’s on the table and what’s off? What does ‘physical intimacy’ look like to you?” Crowley actually put finger quotes around the words when he said them, before leaning forward, head on his fist, elbow propped up on the countertop.

“Well,” Aziraphale answered, swallowing around the uncomfortable burning in his throat, “nothing drastic. The usual.” Aziraphale hoped it didn’t sound like as much of a question as it might have been. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I’m much more concerned about what you’re comfortable with,” Crowley said in way of reply. Aziraphale startled when Crowley covered his hand with one of his own, immediately pulling away. He forced himself to take a deep breath, biting the inside of his cheek, and feeling his cheeks colour with embarrassment. He set his hand back on the countertop, palm up in offering.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I’ll work on that.”

“No need to be nervous, Angel.”

Crowley gave his hand a quick squeeze before withdrawing; Aziraphale tucked both of his hands comfortably in his lap. “Yes, well. That should be quite enough for right now. Are you still interested?”

Crowley adjusted his sunglasses. “Yeah, yeah, but I get to drive.”


	2. Day 1

Aziraphale learned two things about Crowley the next day. The first was that he owned an antique car; Aziraphale himself didn’t know much about cars, but he could tell that Crowley’s would be worth enough to make even Gabriel jealous, especially with the love and attention Crowley seemed to focus on it even in the short couple of hours they spent in it. The second thing he learned was that Crowley had no right to have a driver's license. Aziraphale’s intense panic over Crowley’s devil-may-care driving skills lessened after they left the city but only marginally. He spent much of the three hour jaunt to the Wight ferry clinging to any support the car could provide him.

That being said, Crowley didn’t crash, and only had a near miss once with a pedestrian before they’d left central London. Aziraphale couldn’t have been more grateful to push his way out the door and onto solid ground once Crowley whipped into a parking space for the ferry that would take them to the Isle of Wight. He couldn’t help but breath just a little bit easier to know that he wouldn’t have to worry about Crowley driving them anywhere on the Isle. He carefully ignored the fact that he’d have to reenter Crowley’s car once it was time to head _back_ to London in a few days’ time. Aziraphale’s relief cut itself short when he heard someone call out his name.

Crowley stood on the other side of the car, arms folded over the top. He gave Aziraphale a questioning look over the line of his sunglasses when their eyes met across the expanse of the car between them. Aziraphale didn’t say anything, turning around with what he hoped was a bright smile that didn’t feel as fake as it felt. “Gabriel.”

Gabriel was, as always, dressed sharply in a cardigan and khakis. The smile that stretched thinly across his face felt just as fake as Aziraphale’s own. Gabriel weaved his way through the couple of cars that separated them in the parking lot. Blast Crowley and his ridiculous driving speeds; if they’d taken a bus, they wouldn’t have arrived until the evening ferry and would have missed Gabriel entirely. Instead of going in for a familiar hug or somewhat awkward but pleasant handshake, Gabriel dropped his hands heavily on Aziraphale’s shoulders. It always made him feel incredibly small.

After a second of wide beaming, Gabriel’s face twisted up into a squint, looking over Aziraphale’s shoulders to run along the car behind him. “You’ve finally overcome your stint with public transportation? Decide to take an Uber? Lyft?” he tried when Aziraphale didn’t answer immediately.

He cleared his throat, trying to subtly shrug his way out from under Gabriel’s hands. “Actually,” he answered, “Crowley drove me.” As if on cue, Crowley came around the side of the car, practically oozing raw sex appeal in the swing of his hips, devilish smirk on his lips. Casual as could be, he slid a hand around Aziraphale’s middle, and for his credit, Aziraphale didn’t even jump at the contact. “He’s my -”

“Life partner,” Crowley butted in with amusement.

“Life partner?” Aziraphale questioned, momentarily forgetting about Gabriel to stare at Crowley.

“Life partner,” Crowley confirmed not looking at him but at Gabriel. “Main squeeze, honey-bear, lover boy.”

“Yes, I think that’s quite enough from you,” Aziraphale said loudly, a tinge of embarrassment colouring his cheeks. “Crowley and I have been,” Aziraphale cleared his throat lightly, “seeing one another. For a couple of months, actually.”

“Oh, Aziraphale, congratulations,” Gabriel’s wife, Haniel said, coming up behind her husband. She laid her hands against the back of Gabriel’s shoulders. “You should have let us know you’d be bringing someone special along.”

“Yes, Aziraphale,” there was a tightness around Gabriel’s mouth, in his voice. Normally, Aziraphale would have cringed away from it, but Crowley’s hand was grounding, firm on his side; for once, he wasn’t alone, and wasn’t it just sad that he felt more confident with this near-stranger there? “You should have let us know. You know that we only have a limited number of rooms available.”

Crowley let out a bark of a laugh. “That’s the good thing about dating, you know, _perfectly_ comfortable sharing a bed; we _will_ be needing our own room. We’ll have our own room, right, Angel?” 

Aziraphale could feel the warmth in his cheeks but found himself unable to interrupt Crowley. “I - yes - our own room, yes.”

“Perfect.” Before Aziraphale registered what Crowley was doing, the taller man had bent to press a quick kiss against Aziraphale’s cheek. “We’d better go pick up our tickets for the ferry before they run out.”

“Right, yes, quite.” 

Crowley gave Gabriel and Haniel a wide grin, all teeth, before pushing Aziraphale past them. Aziraphale let Crowley lead him for a few steps before pulling away, Crowley’s hand falling from around him. “Give me your hand then,” Crowley demanded, holding his out in a way that came across as an order, but probably appeared as an offer to anyone watching them. “You’re the one that’s paying me to be your boyfriend in front of your family, and your family is here,” Crowley hissed when Aziraphale hesitated.

And he was quite correct there.

Aziraphale reached out and let Crowley lace their fingers together. Aziraphale expected Crowley to be smug about it, but his expression remained indifferent. “I don’t know if that was all quite necessary.”

“I’m here to roll some heads. Did you see heads roll?”

And, okay, fine, Gabriel had looked positively scandalised. Really, Crowley had done exactly what Aziraphale had needed him to do. “I hadn’t considered rooming agreements,” Aziraphale couldn’t help but admit quietly. “There’s certainly plenty of room in the house; I’m sure we’ll find somewhere for you to sleep.”

“You shy about sharing a bed?” Crowley teased, all in his voice, his expression remaining unchanged. “Two tickets for noon,” Crowley asked the woman manning the ticket booth. A small line of people were already waiting for the ferry despite the next one not leaving for another half an hour.

“Oh, don’t worry, Dear, I’ll pay.” Aziraphale laid his hand on Crowley’s arm when he reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. He fumbled around for his own wallet, probably stuffed into one of his pockets, but Crowley just gave a slight shake of his head and paid for the tickets. Aziraphale huffed out a small cough, covering the soft colour still in his cheeks with his hand. “You should have let me pay,” Aziraphale said quietly as they walked toward the line on the other side of the ticket booth, “I did say it was an all-expenses-paid holiday for you.”

Crowley just gave him a shrug, stuffing his hands as deep as he could into the pockets on his black jeans, which admittedly, wasn’t that far; the clothes really were quite tight. “Just a couple of tickets; I think I can handle that.”

“You mustn’t feel obligated.”

“It’s _fine_ , Angel.”

And Aziraphale let the conversation drop.

“About the bedroom conversation.”

“We’ll share a room. None of your family will believe this is an actual relationship if we don’t.” Crowley paused, and Aziraphale could see the way his expression tightened. “Your family isn’t against sharing a room until marriage, right?” The pull around his eyes smoothed as a wicked grin stretched across his face. “All the better if they are. How long do you think it would take until Gabriel demanded I leave?”

“That would seem rather unlikely,” Aziraphale admitted. “Gabriel’s always been quite good at passive-aggression. Oh, I do hope this doesn’t turn into a week of psychological warfare.” He could just picture it too, the frigid chill sweeping through the house, keeping everyone on their toes. Clipped conversations and lengthy stares.

“There better be, and I plan to win.”

“Well, you haven’t met Gabriel.”

“Actually, just did.” Crowley’s long fingers pointed out across the parking lot to where Gabriel and Haniel were rounding up their children. Thankfully, it gave time for other people to step into line, isolating their conversation from the rest of Aziraphale’s family; it didn’t seem like the rest of them would be making the noon ferry. 

Aziraphale swatted Crowley’s hand down regardless, before anyone noticed their pointing. “That hardly counts.”

“Definitely counts.”

Huffing out a breath, Aziraphale ceased trying to argue to instead continue the conversation at hand. “We’ll just have to find a way to peaceably share the room then. It won’t be spectacularly large, mind you, but we will have to make do.” In the quiet after he spoke, he couldn’t help but add, “It would seem this is your last chance to change your mind. You could make a big show of it even.”

Aziraphale noticed the quiet in his voice when he said it, looking down toward his hands, clasped together in front of his chest. Despite the petty arguments and the way Crowley seemed to be able to embarrass him constantly, Aziraphale hoped he wouldn’t leave. He found he rather liked the company of the other man, and the way he’d been able to stun Gabriel into silence with only a few words put him rather high in Aziraphale’s regard.

“Nah, you’re stuck with me. C’mon, ferry’s almost here.”

* * *

Each year when Aziraphale returned to Wight Island, he was hit with the feeling that the island never changed. The grass remained the same vibrant shade of green from his childhood, the sound of the waves along the island’s edges continued in a gentle lull that had eased Aziraphale to sleep on many occasions, and the expanse of beach around the back of the house appeared to stretch on endlessly.

The wooden walls inside the beachfront house echoed with the sounds of children running, specifically Gabriel’s children in this case. Pictures lined the paneled walls featuring accomplishments, life events, and photos of a happy family that Aziraphale knew was as fake as the facade they put on every year when they reunited. Aziraphale pointedly ignored the framed images, artfully placed on the walls, heading directly to the solitude of his bedroom, trying not to notice the way that Crowley lingered just a bit in front of each bunch of photographs.

What did he think?

Aziraphale refused to ask, forcing silence between them. Once inside the bedroom, Crowley went about unpacking his clothes directly into the closet before leaving his suitcase abandoned to stare out the sliding glass door that led directly down to the beach. Aziraphale carefully folded his own clothes into the dresser. His bedroom itself remained completely untouched since the year before. A thin layer of dust lined everything, and he did his best to brush it away without sneezing. A few of his less-loved books sat in short piles around the room, ready for him when he returned. With the exception of the books and a few sparse articles of clothing, the room held no personal items. It could have been a room anywhere, and for the first time, Aziraphale had someone in his room, examining his life, and it made him feel nervous despite the lack of personal effects.

But Crowley didn’t seem to care about the lies filling the house or the uncomfortable sterility of his room; at the very least, if he did, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he stared out at the roll of the waves along the shore, hands planted on his cocked hips. The clouds outside promised rain, and all Aziraphale could feel was grateful that it hadn’t rained while they’d been on the ferry. Crowley’s sunglasses stayed perched firmly on his nose despite the darkening of the sky.

“So, you grew up here?” Crowley finally asked, breaking the silence but not turning around.

“Yes. My family is rather wealthy,” he admitted, feeling sheepishness creeping into his tone. “I suppose I should have mentioned that.”

Crowley simply gave a non-committal hum. “I figured.”

“How so?”

“You own an antique bookshop and were willing to pay me much more than I deserved to come and spend a few days on an island with you. The wealthy bit was pretty easy to spot.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. I tend to distance myself from my family’s fortune. It’s theirs, and the money made at the bookshop is my own.” Mostly true. The cheap paperbacks that he stocked for the sole purpose _of_ selling managed to keep the bookshop in well enough condition to stay open and provide him with lavish dining options. But when funds were tight, he did dabble into his own bit of inheritance, such a paltry amount of money taken out each time that Aziraphale expected no one else even noticed its disappearance.

Aziraphale grimaced when his stomach grumbled rather loudly in displeasure. The ferry had left the harbour around the noon hour, and Aziraphale had no idea how much time had passed since then. Clearly his body was taking notice of the skipped lunch. Crowley turned around, eyebrows raised over the rim of his sunglasses. “Lunch?”

“I fear there won’t be any food stocked up in the kitchen yet.”

“There’s gotta be restaurants, tourist destination and all. We can pick up groceries on the way back.”

“That sounds lovely.”

Crowley’s frown creased. “We’re going to have to walk, aren’t we?”

Aziraphale merely smiled. “It’s not a large island. I think we’ll survive.” And thank heavens for that, Aziraphale wasn’t sure he’d handle another trip in Crowley’s car just yet. Heaving out a breath, Crowley agreed, letting Aziraphale lead the way, leaving his clothes, mostly unpacked, on the bed for the moment. “What could I interest you in for lunch?”

“Anything’ll do.”

“There’s this _delightful_ seafood place just down the road. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

* * *

Aziraphale actually couldn’t tell if Crowley loved the seafood shop or not. It was a place he’d been going to for years, and they greeted him warmly when he entered, almost as if they’d been expecting him. His family tended to steer clear of the place, a little less than fine dining meant they’d never set foot there. All the better, in his opinion.

But Crowley hardly ate, nibbling at the appetiser, and he didn’t order a full meal, seeming to prefer to watch Aziraphale eat; in any other situation, it would have made Aziraphale uncomfortable, but Crowley appeared genuinely content, so Aziraphale didn’t push anything.

It had almost been like a switch had been flipped once they arrived at the grocers. Crowley kept piling things into their basket without much input from Aziraphale, occasionally humming and hawing over the different varieties available of one thing or another. Aziraphale found himself somewhat enraptured in the concentrated crease between Crowley’s eyes and the focus he had in selecting things. He contented himself with just watching, carrying the basket without prompting for Crowley to fill; Crowley wasted no time in doing so.

A companionable silence stretched between them, only broken by Crowley muttering quiet things to himself or asking for Aziraphale’s opinion on certain ingredients. Aziraphale only broke the comfortable quiet when they exited the grocers, laden with bags - thankfully the house wasn’t _too_ far away. “Oh, I do hope it doesn’t rain,” he lamented, casting an eye up toward the dark clouds that only seemed to have increased since they were last outside.

Unprompted, Crowley asked. “So, at the docks. Your family always like that?”

“Like what?”

“You know, just kind of,” Crowley didn’t really finish his thought but made some awkward motion with his hands that was apparently meant to supplement words, but didn’t quite get the point across what with the bags dangling off his arms.

“Overbearing?” Aziraphale guessed.

“More like, walling you in.”

Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure what had given Crowley that impression, but wasn’t it just the perfect description for the way that Aziraphale actually felt?

“I did look for someone to come with me for a reason.”

“I can see why.”

“I do appreciate you being here,” Aziraphale admitted quietly. 

“Don’t thank me, Angel,” Crowley simply replied, turning his nose up at the suggestion.

“Well, I do,” Aziraphale insisted. He let out a long breath. “I fear it will only grow worse from here on out.”

* * *

“So, how’d the two of you meet?” 

It was Haniel who asked. Out of everyone, Aziraphale liked Haniel the most, although that wasn’t exactly saying a whole lot. Despite her being one of the lesser evils, she did still maintain the uptight image that fit in so well with their family, nothing but strict discipline in her school district. To his credit, Crowley didn’t even tense up. The two of them were seated together on the loveseat in the parlour, mostly just listening to the chatter around them. Crowley had his arm thrown over the back of the sofa, but they weren’t touching. Aziraphale had found himself rather comfortable, settled into the soft seat with a warm cup of tea in his hands.

“Oh, you don’t want to hear about that,” Aziraphale said with a nervous laugh.

Haniel scoffed. “Of course we do.”

“We met at a flower shop, actually,” Crowley answered, unprompted. He didn’t look over at Aziraphale even as he said it, but Aziraphale could feel him shift. “He’s friends with all of the librarians at the London Library, as I’m sure you can imagine, and this one librarian, Margaret, was in the hospital with pneumonia. He stopped by the flower shop to order her an arrangement while she was ill. He was just,” Crowley paused, drawing in a breath and reaching across their bodies to lay his free hand on Aziraphale’s knee. “He was so concerned about her, practically radiated sunshine and grace. I knew I had to get to know him. So, I did. Asked him out for drinks and one thing leads to another. I’m sure you know that part.” Crowley gave Aziraphale’s knee a light squeeze, turning to look at him, expression soft.

Soft despite the ease in which he completely lied to Aziraphale’s family. Not that Aziraphale was about to start complaining; Crowley had really stepped up to spin them a nice and endearing ‘how I met him’ story. Although, Aziraphale couldn’t help the unease he felt over the fact that he _had_ gone to a flower shop to order flowers for one of the librarians. He’d been in quite a rush, distressed over hearing about Margaret’s condition. He’d gone to the shop just down the street from his own. He passed it almost daily in his walk around the neighbourhood - more frequent as of late because of the nice weather - and had thought of it immediately.

The nice young lady at the counter had been more than sympathetic, helping him pick out a nice arrangement and setting up delivery for the hospital. Aziraphale could admit to most of his faults, and one of them was that he remembered next to nothing about the shop. He’d known it was there of course, but he couldn’t actually remember what the interior looked like. He couldn’t remember if Crowley had been there.

Although, clearly he had been to be able to recite the events so easily and with such accuracy.

Aziraphale rather thought that Crowley stood out in a crowd. At the very least, he would have thought he’d have noticed him should they pass on the street, all long legs and swinging hips. He wasn’t exactly in Aziraphale general circle of consorts, but Aziraphale would have thought he would have noticed him. Acknowledged him, even if in passing.

Instead, he couldn’t remember having ever seen Crowley before they met only a few days before in the bookshop.

“I’ve never really seen you as the dating type, Aziraphale. Always thought you felt a bit above that sort of thing.” Gabriel’s head cocked just slightly to the side, eyes intent.

Clearing his throat, Aziraphale replied, “I suppose the right one just hadn’t come along yet.” He avoided Gabriel’s gaze, could feel his brother’s eyes on him. He was saved from having to say more by Crowley’s phone ringing, loud in the relative quiet of the room.

Crowley startled at the sound himself. He pulled away from Aziraphale entirely, leaving a cold spot where he’d just been, to finagle his phone out of his tight jeans. Out of curiosity, Aziraphale glanced over, wondering who would be calling him: a friend? Family member? Aziraphale found he knew next to nothing about any of Crowley’s personal life. “I have to take this. I’ll be back.”

He didn’t look at any of them even as he said it, sliding his thumb across the screen to answer, and completely ignoring the rest of the room as he retreated into the kitchen. “Anathema,” he breathed, voice hushed before it was swallowed up into the other room. Aziraphale couldn’t help but watch him go, a bit longing, sad to be left alone.

“He seems quite nice, Aziraphale,” Raphael said, breaking the hush that had fallen over them. Aziraphale felt a smile rise to his lips. Raphael had married into the family only a few years ago. In fact, Aziraphale had never quite understood it; he didn’t lack the empathy that most of his family did, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure why he’d settled for marrying Michael. Unless it was for the money, not that Raphael had ever seemed the type. 

“Thank you.”

Raphael quirked a quick smile while Michael rolled their eyes. 

“When was Mr. Pulsifer going to be joining us?” Michael asked casually.

“Mr. Pulsifer?”

“You know him, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said with a scoff, already standing up from the armchair he’d been spread out in. “Newton Pulsifer? You went to school together, didn’t you?” Directing himself toward Michael, he replied, “Any minute now. I’ll go look for him; he’s never been good with directions.”

Sandalphon stood as well. “I’ll join you.”

The two of them swept out of the room leaving Aziraphale with the rest of his family, sitting in surprised quiet. He couldn’t help but break it by asking, “Newt? Newt Pulsifer is coming over?”

“He’s been interning with us; I’m surprised you didn’t know.” Michael’s voice was dismissive. They waved a hand through the air as if to brush away Aziraphale’s questions. “He’s coming along quite well; he’ll likely be hired on once his internship ends. Not that he needs to know that yet.”

Aziraphale let the conversation ebb around him, caught in his own thoughts. He hadn’t seen Newt in years, but they’d been friends in grade school, but time and differing social circles had kept them apart in later years. Although, Aziraphale couldn’t say that he hadn’t had some part in that; he’d always been terrible about keeping in touch with people. What was interesting was the fact that he’d apparently wormed in among Aziraphale’s family. He’d have to ask how Newt managed to go from aspiring computer engineer to solicitor.

A few minutes later, Newt pulled Aziraphale from his thoughts, exclaiming, “Aziraphale!” as he entered into the parlour. He sounded just as surprised as Aziraphale felt. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how much he’d actually believed his brothers that _Newton Pulsifer_ was the new solicitor interning at the firm, but there he was, dressed in a suit just a few sizes too big - probably his late father’s - looking terribly out of place.

“Newt, it’s a delight,” and really, under other circumstances, it really would have been. However, something about this all felt strange, staged in a way that made Aziraphale uneasy. Newt stood awkwardly in the doorway, letting Gabriel breeze past him to take a seat back on his large armchair. After a moment of unsettled shuffling from foot to foot, Newt finally slid into Crowley’s vacated spot on the sofa. “You look great,” Newt said, softer, but no less awkwardly enthused, “with all the,” he gestured lamely, “tans.”

Yup, same Newt.

“Thank you.”

“That’s right, you and our Aziraphale went to school together,” Gabriel said as if they hadn’t just had the same conversation before Newt had stepped in.

But, none the wiser, Newt nodded, smile tugging at his lips. “We did.” He pushed his glasses back up on his nose. “We should catch up?” he said it more as a question, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but note that he didn’t look at Aziraphale when he said it, gaze instead darting around the room, almost as if he was uncomfortable with being watched. “We should catch up,” he said more firmly, and this time he did meet Aziraphale’s gaze, “before you leave again.”

“Sounds lovely.” Aziraphale rubbed the palms of his hands over the legs of his trousers feeling a bit closed in, everyone’s eyes on the two of them. “I think I’ll just refill my drink,” he said, although it was still full. “Would you like anything?”

“Oh, I’m all right.”

Aziraphale nodded, smiling, and feeling quite terrible, honestly. Newt was his _friend_ , or had been at the very least. Despite that, he found himself wanting to be as far from the other man as he could. He wondered with a pang where Crowley had run off to; he’d been gone for quite some time. Everything about the world just felt a tad off-kilter from where it usually was.

In the kitchen, Aziraphale poured out his still warm tea, suddenly not wanting it anymore. “Wonder what that boy of yours is up to.” Metatron’s voice startled Aziraphale so badly he almost fumbled the glass mug into the sink. Instead he managed to catch it before it cracked, setting it down gently in the sink where it would be safe from any other mishaps. 

“Hmm?” Aziraphale had no idea how his uncle had managed to stealth his way into the kitchen behind him. 

“I just wonder who Anathema is. Have you met her?”

“I-” Aziraphale paused. “No, I haven’t.”

“A shame.” Metatron pulled out a bottle of wine from the rack, giving Aziraphale a deprecating smile that he really didn’t appreciate before disappearing back into the parlour.

Now, then, what exactly had all that been about? Had his uncle really been implying that Crowley would cheat on him? Fairly explicitly as well. Not that it would really have been cheating if Crowley _were_ to be answering phone calls from a lover. A girlfriend, perhaps? Not that his family would know it wasn’t cheating.

Aziraphale wavered between wanting to storm into the backyard to find where Crowley had gone or storm into the parlour to demand that his family stay out of the relationship between him and Crowley. He eventually decided on a compromise that involved ignoring his family entirely and _calmly_ going into the yard to check on Crowley.

Crowley wasn’t difficult to find, just out of sight around the side of the shed, speaking to someone in easy tones; Aziraphale wondered briefly if he was still on the phone, but as he rounded the side of the wooden building, he found him instead speaking with Gabriel and Haniel’s youngest, Sabriel. Crowley was knelt down on the ground, dirt covering the thighs of his trousers, so that he was eye level with the eight-year-old. Strangely enough, he appeared to be identifying some of Mother’s flora to the child, who listened with rapt attention, keeping his hands to himself despite his obvious desire to touch the dirt and the shrubbery and the flowers.

Aziraphale watched them for a few minutes, neither seeming to notice him there. Crowley made some joke or another that made Sabriel laugh. Of all the things Aziraphale had expected out of the weekend, Crowley bonding with one of the children hadn’t been it, not with his general air of indifference and innuendo. Not wanting to break their moment of bonding, Aziraphale slipped over to the nearby bench swing, watching them, but not interrupting. Instead, he left the last of the day’s sunlight dapple over his skin, creating bursts of warmth that lulled him into a meditative state.

He’d always enjoyed the garden. It helped that his brothers had rarely been there.

The bench shifted with someone else’s weight, waking Aziraphale from his doze. “I didn’t know you were so good with children,” Aziraphale couldn’t help but note aloud, voice coming out just louder than a mumble. He rubbed at his eyes with one hand, straightening up in his seat. He nodded his head over to where Sabriel was still bounding around the yard. He’d apparently found a good stick for fending off enemy Sith. Aziraphale had no idea what that meant, but he seemed to be enjoying himself.

“He’s a good kid,” Crowley answered dismissively. He slouched down on his side of the bench even as Aziraphale drew himself up. What a pair they probably made sitting next to one another. Crowley threw his arm up over the back of the bench, fingertips just barely brushing against Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“We’ll see when he grows up.” Ophaniel and Puriel, Gabriel’s older sons, had probably seemed like ‘good kids’ at Sabriel’s age, too; Aziraphale couldn’t rightly remember. Nowadays they took after their father just a little too much for comfort. 

Crowley gave a halfhearted shrug. “He just needs a positive influence or two is all.”

“I didn’t take you as an optimist,” Aziraphale noted, somewhat surprised.

The comment made Crowley turn to look at him, brows knitted together over the rim of his glasses, giving Aziraphale a slow look from top to bottom. He felt more appraised than he had in a long time. And not in a good way. “Just realistic,” Crowley hissed.

“I didn’t mean it as a criticism. I would never criticise optimism. I just fear I misjudged you a tad.”

Crowley let out a long, barely audible breath. “Don’t worry about it.”

The atmosphere around them had shifted to uncomfortable now. Unlike the afternoon, there was a noticeable tension that kept either of them from saying any more. It also kept the both of them from moving, sitting still, the bench rocking just slightly with the wind. Aziraphale fidgeted, clearing his throat. “That lie,” he began, “about how we met. That actually happened, didn’t it? Well, not the bit about us getting together,” Aziraphale pushed on breathlessly, “but the rest of it. How did you know?”

Aziraphale suspected he already knew the truth, as he had earlier when he’d recognised the story Crowley had spun. He just couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to so completely breeze past Crowley’s presence in the flower shop and then again to not even recognise him when he’d come responding to the ad Aziraphale had placed. Crowley was not someone - Aziraphale had come to suspect - that one just passed by on the street without noticing. He exuded a certain charisma outside of his typical “Don’t Approach Me” vibe. 

“I wasn’t _spying_ on you if that’s what you’re thinking,” and the words didn’t carry an ounce of accusation. Instead, they seemed more than a little wary, perhaps apprehensive over how Aziraphale was going to respond.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you were.”

“I made your order. Delivered it, too. We didn’t actually meet.” Crowley said it oh so casually, so lazily, but his face was turned in the opposite direction of Aziraphale’s. “I just happened to be in the shop when you placed the order. Heard how serious you were about everything, so I filled the order myself.” Crowley gave what Aziraphale expected was supposed to be a nonchalant shrug to accompany his words, but Aziraphale felt the weight of his emotions behind it, the need for Aziraphale to brush off his kindness.

Unfortunately, Aziraphale didn’t have much of an off switch when it came to nice deeds.

“You didn’t have too, but thank you. I appreciate that.” And he sincerely did.

“Your friend. Is she better?”

“Much, thank you. Still feeling unwell most of the time, I’m afraid, but the doctors say it’s normal with the severity of the pneumonia she had.” Aziraphale paused, a slight smile gracing his lips and a swelling feeling in his chest that made him almost giddy; he felt similarly when he discovered a new restaurant, but at the same time this felt wholly new. “She loved the flowers; they were beautiful.”

“Yeah, well.”

“You work there, then? At the shop?” Laughing lightly, Aziraphale added, “You worked just down the road for however long, and we never once ran into one another.”

“Life’s shitty like that.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. We were just fated to meet in a different way.” Crowley turned to look at him then, face obscured but colour in his cheeks that Aziraphale felt immediately endeared to. It also made him immediately uncomfortable, wondering if he’d crossed a line. “Not that it was fate for us to meet, of course! Although, I do suppose it rather feels like fate to me. You came at exactly the right moment, saved me multitudes of trouble. I don’t know what I would have done without you here.”

Crowley smiled, unlike the usual ones Aziraphale saw, this one appeared genuine, sincere and charming. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley even knew what expression he was making. “You’d have been fine, Angel. You’re more resilient than you seem to take yourself for.”

“Oh, well, that’s quite kind of you.” Aziraphale’s eyes darted away for a moment before returning to meet Crowley’s shyly. He cleared his throat, hoping to ease some of the shyness from the air. “You never did answer. You work at the shop?”

“I _own_ the shop, Angel.”

“You own-? Oh, I didn’t realise.”

One of Crowley’s brows raised questioningly. “Think about it,” was all he said.

Aziraphale felt his own brows draw together in thought before, “Oh! Anthony J’s - and you’re Anthony - and - oh, I’m really quite dense, aren’t I?” Crowley’s smile came back, amused as he slumped further down into his slouch. 

“Not dense, just a bit behind the uptake. I don’t blame you. Bit sprung on, and all that.”

“Oh, well, if you own the shop, you didn’t need to be bothered with arranging some flowers for a quick order! I’m sure you have much more important things you could be doing.” And didn’t Aziraphale know it? He would have much preferred to spend the entirety of his days reading his books - and he did that as often as possible - but there were bills to pay and orders to make and businesses to run.

Crowley snorted, smile slipping away. “Hardly debasing myself. I’d spend all day making arrangements for sick women in hospitals if I could. Most of the time it’s wedding arrangements or showings.” Crowley made a face that Aziraphale took to mean that weddings were the bane of his existence. “If not them then funerals. I’d much rather my work go to someone who will appreciate them for more than a day. Much rather make someone feel better.”

Warm feeling bubbling inside his chest, Aziraphale laid on of his hands on Crowley’s leg, which his didn’t move or shy away from. “Crowley, you really are quite a kind person.”

“Oh, shut it, Angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Winter_Skye for making the fantastic art!
> 
> Artist: Winter_Skye  
> [Instagram](https://instagram.com/winter._.skye?igshid=1n6qom3tn8sjx)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Winter__Skye?s=09)


	3. Day 2

One thing Aziraphale had been looking forward to was that he wouldn’t have to put up with Crowley’s driving again until they finally left the island. It turned out that he’d have to endure Crowley’s driving much sooner than that. Aziraphale spent the first morning on the island contemplating ways to coax Crowley into a day out, just the two of them. He enjoyed the other man’s company, especially intrigued after learning that Crowley didn’t quite fit into the original mold that Aziraphale had placed him in what with owning a flower shop and being particularly good interacting with Sabriel. Besides, Aziraphale didn’t much fancy Haniel’s perfectly planned day of manicures in town when it involved Michael and Uriel tagging along - which would unfortunately, put Crowley at the mercy of Gabriel and his uncles, a fate that Aziraphale didn’t have the heart to thrust on him.

So, that left him planning their own day out.

Thoughts only half on where he was walking and more on how to bring up the conversation of a day trip with Crowley, he almost didn’t notice when the door down the hall opened until Crowley appeared, one of the house’s fluffy white towels slung over his shoulders and another wrapped around his hips. If Aziraphale’s face heated up or his thoughts short-circuited just a bit, well, he’d certainly deny it.

Didn’t mean it wasn’t completely obvious when he froze in the hallway, blocking the bedroom door.

And Crowley’s infuriating sunglasses were still on.

He ruffled the white towel through his hair, seeming to not notice Aziraphale at first either. When he did, he paused before sauntering the rest of the way over, amused grin widening with each step. 

Face to face, Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice just how much taller Crowley was than him, all long-limbed. He leaned over Aziraphale, pressing one of his hands over the door frame above Aziraphale’s head, looming into his space. Aziraphale swallowed, distinctly aware of the scent of aftershave clinging to Crowley’s skin.

“You going to move, Angel, or just stare at me all morning?”

“Move. Yes. Bedroom.”

Aziraphale jumped, kick-starting himself, and fumbling only a little bit with the door handle, glad when the door opened easily, and he could push himself inside. Crowley followed him in, right at his heels, but gave him space in the confines of the bedroom, kicking the door closed and heading for the closet to fetch his clothes

“I was thinking,” Aziraphale began, swallowing and sitting on the edge of the bed. Crowley must have made it; Aziraphale certainly hadn’t. The sheets that Crowley had fashioned into a makeshift bed on the floor the night before had also been tucked away, probably just as carefully folded. “I thought,” he started again, “that we could visit the Osborne House today, do a bit of sightseeing. It’s really quite spectacular; one of the most beautiful places on the island.” Aziraphale didn’t mention that he thought Crowley would quite enjoy the gardens.

“Whatever you’d like.” Aziraphale resisted the urge to look over at Crowley, trying to give him some privacy while he changed. 

“Well, I’d rather like to do something that you’d enjoy,” Aziraphale admitted. “I’ve been to the Isle before, raised here, if you’ll recall. Not much we could do would be new to me, but it would be new to you. Whatever you would like.”

“The House sounds _fine_ , Aziraphale. It’s one of Queen Victoria’s, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, yes it was,” Aziraphale replied, somewhat surprised that Crowley knew that.

“When would you like to go?”

“Oh, as soon as possible.”

Which is how they ended up with Crowley behind the wheel less than an hour later. The Bentley had been left on the mainland for which Crowley had lamented excessively, even while climbing into one of Aziraphale’s mother’s most expensive convertibles. Thankfully, the Osborne House was just on the other side of Cowes, not far past the bridge.

The House itself wasn’t bustling by any means, being a Tuesday morning and all, but there was a fair share of tourists. In the scheme of things, Crowley and Aziraphale were really there as tourists as well. The morning was proving to be sunny, perhaps even an unseasonably hot day. “So, what made you think of coming here?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale handed a couple of notes over for their tickets.

“The garden is said to be one of the most beautiful and destination places on the isle,” Aziraphale said, leading the way toward the sandy coloured building. “I thought you would like it.” As they entered the building, Aziraphale frowned even as a sense of calm washed over him - historical sights always did have that effect on him, probably why he collected so many antique books. “I hope I didn’t misjudge.”

“Because I’m a florist?”

“Oh, I did misjudge, didn’t I? It’s only that you seemed so at ease yesterday speaking with Sabriel about the flowers, and I thought, oh, but I shouldn’t have-”

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand, the one still holding their tickets, startling him out of his ramble. Swallowing, Aziraphale quieted, feeling distinctly uneasy, but Crowley only smiled, a soft, genuine thing, crinkles around his eyes peeking out from the corner of his sunglasses. “It’s fine, Angel. I appreciate the thoughtfulness, so show me the garden.”

It had been years since Aziraphale had actually been to the Osborne House. He couldn’t help but slow his pace through the house itself, soaking in the bold colours and grand furniture. It was a level of unneeded human extravagance that Aziraphale never could imagine needing in his lifetime.

“You like it here?”

“It reminds me of my childhood,” Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley hummed, a considering sound, “I’ve always felt so small in places like this. I could never understand why people always feel like they need more and more of things. It just clutters the space; there’s no room to move.”

“A minimalist, are you?”

“I suppose.” The two words felt weighted. 

Aziraphale let them be. “The garden is just this way.”

Aziraphale took Crowley back into the bright sunlight. He had to squint against the sun but was pleased to see the garden lit up in greens and reds and golds just as he remembered it. Glancing over at Crowley, he hoped to find some sort of affirmation that he was enjoying himself, maybe a bit breath-taken by the splendour of the greenery, but was disappointed to find an unreadable expression beyond the mirror of his dark glasses.

Did he love it? Did he hate it? Had Aziraphale misjudged after all?

Crowley took the steps down from the back of the house at a lazy saunter, reaching out to touch some of the leaves on one of the bushes at the bottom of the stairs. The bush just barely reached to his hips, but the touch seemed casual, familiar, and incredibly personal. Aziraphale followed him, the two of them falling into an easy pace down the gravel pathways between the flowerbeds.

“It must take a couple dozen gardeners to keep the gardens through the season,” Crowley noted, pausing particularly long to look over some sort of sculpted bush just on the edge of one of the gardens. “Not a brown frond to be seen.”

“Oh, certainly.”

Crowley huffed out a short, derisive laugh that had Aziraphale pausing to look at him. “I bet they don’t even talk to them,” he muttered under his breath.

“You talk to your plants, Dear?”

“What?” Crowley’s voice turned sharp, and he straightened immediately from the slight bend he’d been in.

Aziraphale tilted his head curiously. “Your plants? Do you talk to them?”

Crowley coughed, swiping fingers around the corner of his mouth and looking up toward the sky. Aziraphale saw a dusting of colour against his cheeks, but couldn’t quite remember if that had been there previously, warmed from being out in the sun. “Makes them grow better if you talk to them,” Crowley muttered.

“I’m sure they love you.”

“Don’t need them to love me. Just need them to grow decent. If they don’t, then no one would buy from me.”

“Do you have any you keep for pleasure?”

Starting to walk again, Crowley paused as if thinking. “Most of my stock is kept on my property,” he said after a bit of silence, “so that I can keep an eye on them. But, yes, I do have things in the sunroom that are exclusively mine. I may trim some of the orchids occasionally for a centrepiece or two, but mostly they’re for me.”

“Well, I do hope they’ll be all right without you.”

“They’ll be fine. It’s only a week. They’re probably having their own holiday without me.”

“I’m sure they miss you,” Aziraphale replied with a smile. “Think I could tempt you to a spot of lunch before going back to the house? When you’re ready, of course. There’s no rush.”

“No, no, lunch sounds good.” Crowley reached across the space between them and took Aziraphale’s hand in his own. Surprised, but not displeased, Aziraphale turned to look at him with wide eyes, wondering if he’d even realised he’d done it. The fact that Crowley didn’t look back at him, instead he kept his eyes pointedly turned away toward the flowerbeds told him that Crowley very much knew.

* * *

Aziraphale discovered the newfound closeness with Crowley to be a delight. Since their hand-holding through the Osborne House just a few hours before, Crowley had become more bold, a little less hesitant in his touches. He constantly brushed against Aziraphale’s side or let his hands linger just a bit longer when they touched. Despite the pleasantness, Aziraphale didn’t feel confident in bringing the new closeness up, afraid that drawing attention to it might make Crowley stop or second guess himself. So, Aziraphale stayed quiet, luxuriating in the comfort of another person. But, of course, the little bubble of happiness couldn’t last forever, especially not when it seemed like everyone else in the house was against him. 

Gabriel, in particular, had never been good about keeping his opinions to himself. Frankly, Aziraphale had been waiting for the moment when Gabriel’s tense politeness would snap. It came during the evening after their rather pleasant trip to the Osborne House. Aziraphale had no sooner slipped out into the kitchen to refill his wine glass then Gabriel cornered him.

He crowded uncomfortably close into Aziraphale’s space. “He’s ‘the one’ then, is he?” Gabriel asked. He’d always been one to create distance between himself and others, and Aziraphale had never gone out of his way to be a touchy-feely sibling, but Gabriel pulled in close then. Trying to take a step back, Aziraphale rammed the countertop into his spine for his efforts, trapped between Gabriel’s intimidating stance and the counter, grimacing. Air quotes accompanied Gabriel’s words, and Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure that Gabriel was using them correctly.

“Well, uh, it would seem a bit soon for that, for, uh, definitives. We’re just, well, we’re just seeing where it goes,” Aziraphale stuttered out, pulling his glass close to his chest as if using it as a shield in front of him. He wished desperately that Crowley would come to check on what was taking him so long.

Gabriel didn’t smile. “That’s a no, then. Aziraphale,” he breathed out like he was getting ready to discipline one of his children, “I appreciate that you want to have a fling or two, have fun, but you’re getting older; it’s about time you think about settling down, hmm? Look,” he bolstered on without room for Aziraphale to talk, “you need someone that’s going to be able to-”

And Aziraphale rallied his confidence, a tad indignant about his relationship with Crowley being referred to as a fling - and really, he probably needed to examine that feeling, given their _actual_ relationship. “I’m not interested in whomever you’ve picked out for me this time. I do believe Crowley _could be_ the one, but, as I said, we’re willing to see where it goes.”

“You’re getting older every year, Aziraphale. You won’t have a lot of time left.”

“You’re correct; I’m almost forty. That sounds like plenty of time to me; I’ll still have half of my life to live. Now, if you’ll kindly excuse me, I believe Crowley is waiting for me outside.”

Gabriel didn’t move. “That’s the other thing: what kind of name is _Crowley_? Not his real name, I’d imagine. Why would it be that you call him by his last name? Could be that it’s because you’re not as close as you claim to be?”

Aziraphale felt his frown deepen and drew himself up straighter - still not nearly as tall as Gabriel. “I hardly feel our family can judge anyone else regarding strange names: _Ophaniel, Puriel,_ and _Sabriel_ for instance.” Aziraphale sniffed, breezing by Gabriel’s sharp, ‘They’re biblical!’ “ _Anthony_ doesn’t appreciate his given name and prefers to go by his surname. I see no problem in indulging him, and I expect the rest of you all to do the same. _Now_ , I’m going back into the sunroom to spend time with my _boyfriend_ ,” and he didn’t even choke on the word, too fueled by adrenaline and righteous anger, “excuse me.”

Pushing past Gabriel, who didn’t move to stop him, Aziraphale made his way back into the sunroom feeling quite proud of himself for standing up to Gabriel. He was looking forward to getting to whisper the story out to Crowley back in the sunroom, only Crowley wasn’t in the sunroom anymore. The loveseat they’d been sharing for most of the evening sat empty, making Aziraphale frown. 

Sandalphon smiled over at him, grin wide but eyes dark. “Stepped out,” Sandalphon said. “That Ana girl again.”

“Do you know where he went?” Aziraphale asked, throat feeling suddenly dry.

“Into the yard. Trouble in paradise, Aziraphale?”

“Everything’s just fine, thank you.”

Without waiting for Sandalphon to say anything else, Aziraphale pushed his way out into the yard. He stopped outside the door unsure of what to do. He could go after Crowley, sure, but if he was on the phone would he even want Aziraphale around? Did he regret coming along with Aziraphale on this venture? Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel like he was standing in the way of whatever relationship Crowley had with the girl on the phone. He hoped she was nice enough to deserve Crowley.


	4. Day 3

Aziraphale didn’t bring up the phone call the next day. Instead of finding Crowley out in the yard, he’d decided to head to bed instead, pretending to be asleep while he waited for Crowley. The other man came into the bedroom not too long later, hovering in the doorway to the bedroom, letting the light from the hallway stream in, hesitating, before he’d gone through his evening routine and settled into the pile of blankets and sheets on the floor. Neither of them spoke about it the next day.

Aziraphale could almost forget the guilt he felt, another feeling he wasn’t examining too closely; he felt like he was doing that more and more lately.

“All right, Angel?” Crowley asked, voice low and pitched to avoid the rest of the people around the table from hearing. 

Aziraphale jolted, surprised how far away his mind had managed to drift. It didn’t seem like anyone else had noticed his little trip away except for Crowley who looked overly concerned and incredibly endearing. “Quite fine, my dear. Just drifting.” Crowley didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t say anything else. Instead, he covered Aziraphale’s hands on his lap with one of his own.

Sabriel had sat down on Crowley’s other side enthusiastically at the beginning of brunch. Gabriel had looked like he’d drank something sour, but hadn’t stopped his youngest son from sitting next to Crowley. Giving Aziraphale’s hands a quick squeeze, Crowley turned back to listen to whatever Sabriel was jabbering to him about.

“Have you spoken with Newt again?”

Aziraphale glanced over to Michael. Their expression was open and non-judgemental, but the question made Aziraphale’s frown deepened. “I haven’t,” he answered. “We haven’t kept in touch in recent years. I don’t have contact information for him anymore.”

“Oh,” Michael replied, pulling out a card from their pocket. “Bit scattered, that one. He must have forgotten to give you his number.” They passed over the card which turned out to be a business card from the family firm specifically for Newt. “I’m sure he’s just _dying_ to hear from you.”

Crowley let out a quiet snort that had Michael’s lips twisting up in displeasure, but they didn’t say anything, turning instead to start a conversation with Uriel beside them. Raphael gave Crowley and Aziraphale a sympathetic smile but didn’t say anything. Absentmindedly, Aziraphale fiddled with the card in his hand.

“Going to give him a call?” Crowley asked.

“What? Oh, no,” Aziraphale replied, setting the card down on the table between them. “Newt and I used to be friends, but well, it’s been quite some time. I’m not even sure what he’s doing anymore. He wanted to be a _computer engineer_.”

The card sat between them innocently on the table until Crowley picked it up, turning it over and over between his fingers. “Might be nice. To catch up.” He flicked the card out so most of it pointed toward Aziraphale to grab.

“No, it’s quite all right.”

“Hmm, you sure?” Aziraphale couldn’t help but glance from the card up to Crowley’s face. Crowley wasn’t looking at him, face turned just slightly away despite the fact that his entire upper body was turned toward Aziraphale. “Family,” Crowley made a quick circular gesture around the table, “makes it sound like the two of you would be quite the catch together.”

Aziraphale had expected to hear tease in Crowley’s tone, but it fell just a bit flat, terser, maybe even a little bitter.

Was Crowley jealous?

The thought made a burst of warmth bloom in Aziraphale’s chest, and he felt a tightening in his throat. Surely not? This was all supposed to be quite platonic between the two of them, but even as he thought it, he could also feel a tugging bit of satisfaction. He _hoped_ that Crowley was jealous, wanted him to act on it. Aziraphale grabbed the card out from between Crowley’s fingers to set it back down on the table. He carefully watched the startled jolt Crowley gave, and the minute ease of tension in his rigid stance when Aziraphale pointedly told him, “I’m not interested in Newt.”

Crowley’s lips twitched up in the corners. “Whatever you say, Angel.”

* * *

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked into the dark, voice hushed with the quiet of the night. The only light came from the slit in the curtains from outside. In the past few minutes, Aziraphale eyes had adjusted well to the dark; he could make out the faint swirls in the paint on the ceiling above him, tracing the curves with his eyes as he breathed quietly into the air.

“Yeah?” Crowley’s voice was only a smidgen louder, equally hushed, but with a deeper timbre than Aziraphale’s own. It sounded rough, like it did in the mornings, but Aziraphale couldn’t tell if that came from Aziraphale having woken him or his attempt at a whisper.

Aziraphale swallowed, quiet, letting the rhythmic tracing of the shapes on the ceiling soothe his nerves. “Would you like to sleep up here?” he asked. He cleared his throat, continuing, “I just can’t imagine the floor is all that comfortable, and you’ve been sleeping on it all week, and it’s a bit chilly, you see. I could do with the extra–” Aziraphale paused, throat bobbing. Heat? Body warmth? Closeness? ”Blankets.”

A silent few seconds followed his words while he waited, breath caught in his throat. He twisted his fingers around and around in the fringe of the throw blanket. His answer came in the form of rustling as Crowley heaved himself up off the floor and onto the bed. He slid his way under the covers, pulling his own blanket over the top of the both of them, smoothing it down over Aziraphale’s throw.

“This is nice,” Aziraphale said quietly. He kept his gaze fixated on the ceiling, hyper-aware of how he was positioned, ramrod straight on the bed, hands clasped overtop of his chest, and how Crowley was positioned; he didn’t appear any laxer than Aziraphale did, and he wondered if this suggestion had been a poor idea.

“Yeah.”

Hoping to dispel the atmosphere, Aziraphale barreled on, talking into the dark. “I hope that this week hasn’t been too uncomfortable for you. We’re nearly through to the end now. You’ve been a tremendous help.”

“I’m not _helpful_ ,” Crowley grumbling out, but there was no bite behind his words. “I’m just doing a job. You basically hired me.” Crowley shifted, Aziraphale could see the movement in his periphery, as he scooted down the bed a bit, sliding onto his side to face Aziraphale. “It’s been kinda fun, honestly. ‘Family’s kinda prickish, but they might actually have something with that Newt fellow. Seems your speed.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but scoff, turning his head to the side to watch Crowley. He was hard to make out in the darkened room, the hint of light through the curtains illuminating the line of his body under the blankets. His hair spilled in red curls across the white pillowcase under his own head; Aziraphale resisted the urge to reach out and touch. “Newt is hardly my type.”

A curl of a smile spread across Crowley’s face, tucking an arm up under his head, chin resting on his elbow. “You sure? Seems incredibly down to Earth from what Michael’s been saying. Good job, seems like. Bet the two of you’d get along fabulously. Probably spend all day mooning over nerd things.”

“You own a _flower shop_ ,” Aziraphale grumbled, feeling only a hint defensive, although he could hear the teasing lilt in Crowley’s voice. “Hardly the epitome of cool there, dear.”

“But I wear leather jackets and skinny jeans to make up for it.” The corners of Crowley’s eyes crinkled as his smile stretched wider. With a start, Aziraphale realized that Crowley wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. It made sense that he wouldn’t wear them to sleep, but Aziraphale had never seen him go without.

Unwittingly, a soft smile came to Aziraphale’s own face. “You’re not wearing your glasses.”

The hand not trapped under his head darted up reflexively to feel for his missing glasses, stopping just short of touching his temple. The smile had slipped away immediately, and Crowley went to sit up, either to run away or find the glasses, but Aziraphale caught him before he could get too far. He darted out, hand resting on Crowley’s elbow.

“You don’t need them,” Aziraphale said softly. “It was an observation, not a criticism.”

In the light’s silhouette, Aziraphale saw Crowley swallow uncomfortably. “You’ll be more comfortable with them on, I’d think.”

“And you’d be more comfortable with them off, hmm? Can’t imagine they’d be easy to sleep in.” Distinctly aware that his hand was still on Crowley’s arm, Aziraphale moved his grip down to lay his hand over Crowley’s, feeling the strained tendons sharply under his fingertips where they held Crowley’s upright. He moved his thumb in soothing circles over the back of Crowley’s hand. For his part, Crowley’s head turned to look at where their hands met but didn’t pull away. “I’m sure they’re lovely,” Aziraphale continued, equally soft, “your eyes that is. I do hate that you hide them from me all the time.”

“Feeling bold tonight, Angel?” This time Crowley’s voice came out as a hiss, a bit bitter but without the bite; Aziraphale had a feeling he was attempting to be intentionally rude in the hopes of scaring Aziraphale away. Instead of pulling away as he felt Crowley very much expected him too, Aziraphale only softened his grip, giving Crowley the opportunity to withdraw if he wanted.

He didn’t.

“You make me braver than I usually am,” Aziraphale agreed.

Crowley barked out a huff of derisive laughter. “Hardly.”

“You do,” Aziraphale disagreed. He found himself unable to look at Crowley’s face, the side of it he could see, instead watching his own fingers trace arcs against Crowley’s skin. 

“I’ve never been quite as courageous as I have been these last few days. I’ve certainly never imagined standing up to Gabriel before!” Aziraphale found his gaze softening further, remembering the way he’d stood up to his brother in the kitchen. Just a year ago he would have demurely listened to what Gabriel had to say, nodded along just to get him to go away. He would have been internally fuming about it certainly, but he wouldn’t have done anything for himself.

Rather than replying right away, Crowley ran his free hand over his face, focusing on the stubble around his chin before he slid back into position next to Aziraphale on the bed. He wouldn’t help but smile rather happily about his victory, even more pleased when Crowley hesitantly turned his hand over so they were palm to palm. “You sure you don’t want to try anything with that Newt fellow? Michael really seems to think the two of you are perfect for one another.” Unlike earlier, the teasing note wasn’t in Crowley’s voice. He seemed uncertainly, unbelievably soft.

“Absolutely. I definitely don’t want to know what Michael’s been telling you or how they found the time. We haven’t been apart for long the last few days.”

“Oh, they make time. It’s really been nothing bad; just regular warning me off from stealing your virtue sorts of things.” The teasing note, Aziraphale was pleased to find, had returned to Crowley’s voice. Aziraphale watched him, the way his eyes moved, likely tracing the same lines on the ceiling that he had been earlier before shifting, turning back on his side to face Aziraphale in the dark.

“I’m hardly worried.”

“Maybe you should be.”

Aziraphale scooched around the bed as well, going to lay on his side so that the two of them were facing one another. A foot of space spread between them, but Aziraphale could almost feel the warm puffs of breath from Crowley. It was intoxicating, being this close to him, to anyone; it had been such a long time since Aziraphale had felt any connection with another person. Their hands had become disconnected at some point, Crowley’s now tucked up under his head, woven into his red hair, but the space felt no less intimate.

“I’m glad you decided not to put your glasses back on.”

Crowley mouth twisted up at the corners, but he didn’t outright argue with Aziraphale this time, so he counted it as a win. “’s not so bad in the dark; ‘know you can’t exactly seem them, my eyes.” He wiggled his fingers in the air as if to add emphasis to his statement before settling it down to pull at the fringe of the blanket.

“I’m sure they’re lovely.” And he was. He could see Crowley’s eyes glint in the low light.

A huff of a bitter laugh escaped Crowley’s lips. “Wouldn’t say that if you could actually see them; I know you can’t. They’re weird.” Crowley swallowed, throat contracting before he continued, nervous, “It’sa condition. Genetic, I think.”

Reaching out, Aziraphale ran his hand carefully down the side of Crowley’s face, cupping his cheek, ignoring how warm the other man’s skin was under his touch. “I’d love to see them in the day sometime if you’d be willing to show me.”

“I, uh, yeah, of course,” Crowley agreed immediately, tremor in his voice. 

Mission accomplished, Aziraphale pulled his hand away, more than pleased to watch the quick dart in Crowley’s eyes as they followed the motion, the way his breath came out in gentle puffs from between slightly parted lips. “Thank you.”

“Yeah.” Crowley didn’t look at him, gaze fixed down at the sheets, running his fingers over the soft fabric. Silence settled between them, pleasant and comfortable. Aziraphale noticed his gaze going just a smidge hazy as sleepiness finally decided to settle in.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Angel.” Aziraphale merely hummed, feeling the smile that tugged at his lips. Crowley liked to play up the bad boy attitude and did it well enough, but Aziraphale could tell through the little things that he was really rather sweet. “Shouldn’t keep you up,” Crowley continued, the blankets shifted as Crowley pulled them up around their shoulders. “Get some sleep.”

“You should sleep too,” Aziraphale blinked opened his eyes to see Crowley still there beside him, just watching. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve shared a bed with anyone. I hope it won’t bother you.”

“Sharing the bed? It’s fine. Now, stop worrying; go to sleep.”

Crowley slid onto his stomach, arms burrowing up under his pillow. Aziraphale couldn’t help but find himself wondering, even as he began to drift off, if Crowley didn’t mind sharing a bed because it was a common occurrence and what exactly that possibility could mean for them.


	5. Day 4

Aziraphale woke to an empty bed, but the shower running down the hall. He couldn’t help but feel perfectly pleased and rested, taking his time to luxuriate in the warmth of the bed, content to spend the morning being lazy and domestic.

As if sensing Aziraphale’s wakefulness, Crowley stepped into the bedroom only a few minutes later, the waistband of his jeans slung down low on his hips. Aziraphale watched the swing of his hips as he stepped over to the closet to riffle through his things. Aziraphale felt he was being purposely seductive, something he was quickly confirmed when Crowley threw a wink over his shoulder toward the bed leaving Aziraphale quite unable to form words. He also _wasn’t wearing his glasses_.

They spent much of the morning puttering around the house in an easy and comfortably domestic way that practically had Aziraphale melted into putty. He hadn’t had a good opportunity to really sit Crowley down to wax poetic about his likely beautiful eyes - most everything about Crowley was beautiful - before he’d slipped his sunglasses on to fetch them both some breakfast from the kitchen.

It wasn’t until the afternoon that Aziraphale earned himself the opportunity. Instead of going out galavanting around the city, they’d opted for a day in that had turned more into a calm day out in the garden. The sun wasn’t particularly bright or oppressive, but it gave them just enough warmth to be soothing. They’d been talking about absolute nonsense, but Crowley had grown passionate, eventually pulling off the sunglasses with one hand, the other wrapped around the stem of a wine glass.

Aziraphale didn’t call attention to it right away even if he’d noticed immediately, too afraid that doing so would scare Crowley off. He opted to continue their debate instead, letting Crowley wave the sunglasses around by their stem not even appearing to have noticed that he’d whipped them off.

Immediately Aziraphale understood why Crowley felt he needed to hide them. His eyes were a lovely shade of hazel, just on the right side of gold, but his pupils weren’t the typical round shape generally expected of eyes. Like ink splotches that had been drug through with a brush, his pupils had little notches at the bottom, noticeable, but not at all unattractive. Aziraphale couldn’t imagine the level of bullying Crowley must have endured to make the decision to cover them all the time.

“What’re you looking at?” Crowley asked after a minute or two. His eyes squinted a bit, brows all puckered together as he scrutinized Aziraphale, who realised, quite suddenly, that he’d stopped paying attention to their conversation. Apparently, Crowley had noticed as well, likely Aziraphale hadn’t answered properly or in the correct spot.

Before he could answer, Crowley seemed to recognise all at once what he’d done and what it meant. He immediately went to replace his glasses, wine glass set hastily on the table in front of him. Aziraphale darted forward just as quickly to still Crowley’s hand, feeling the distinct similarity to when he’d done the same the night before.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” he said, quietly, voice hushed.

“‘M not hiding.”

Aziraphale frowned, pointedly giving Crowley a look he knew communicated exactly what he thought of that statement. Not that it mattered. Crowley was looking anywhere but at him, fingers fiddling with the stem of the glasses that he couldn’t put back on without breaking Aziraphale’s hold on him. Aziraphale felt inordinately pleased that Crowley was currently choosing to keep the contact rather than break it to put the glasses back on.

“They’re lovely.”

“They’re really not.”

“ _I_ think they are,” Aziraphale pointedly stressed. He felt a flutter of hope that Crowley would take the words to heart, that he’d choose to stay open for Aziraphale. “I’d like for you to leave your glasses off, but I understand if you don’t want to. I hope you can trust me with that.”

Fixated on Crowley, Aziraphale pulled his hand away, giving Crowley the choice. He wouldn’t admit how disappointed he’d be if Crowley chose to hide his eyes away again, but he also wouldn’t blame him. Everyone had their defenses, and Aziraphale felt like this was Crowley’s biggest one. Swallowing, Crowley kept turning the stem of the glasses around and around between his fingers before finally placing them down on the glass tabletop. 

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Aziraphale merely beamed.

* * *

The two of them were only spared a few minutes in the quiet calm of the garden before the door into the house slid open bringing the chattering of voices and laughter with it. As if on command, Crowley slid his glasses back on without a thought, but he left their hands connected. Aziraphale glanced at where they touched before watching the people spill out onto the lawn. They hardly paid any attention to Crowley and Aziraphale until Gabriel and Newt slipped out at the back of the party. Gabriel had his arm slung over Newt’s shoulder who looked strangely small beside him even though they were nearly the same size. 

Directing him toward their little table on the edge of the lawn, Gabriel smiled, all teeth, gaze on Aziraphale, completely ignoring Crowley’s presence. Crowley, for his part, seemed completely fine with that, yawning loudly and slinging his feet over the arm of the chair to lounge in it. 

“Aziraphale! Newt was just telling me about all the fun you used to get up to during school. Seems like the two of you were close.” Aziraphale frowned, unsure why any of that mattered.

“ _Anthony Crowley?”_

Aziraphale’s frown deepened, confusion mounting when it was _Newt_ that had said it. Gabriel was the one that answered, “You know him?” The pleased expression had slipped off his face as well, leaving the severe look of unhappiness that Aziraphale was used too, all tight lines and hard eyes.

“Of course!” Newt exclaimed. From what Aziraphale remembered of Newt, the other man had always been rather quiet and timid. To hear him with this much enthusiasm was far from usual. Aziraphale glanced between the two of them, sharply; Crowley seemed to have actually tuned into the conversation now too, eyes scanning Newt from head to toe, and Aziraphale could see his eyes wide behind his glasses from the angle he was sitting. “We went to University together. Well, sort of. Crowley was a few years above me. Graduated top of his class. Fancy seeing you here!”

“Uh, what?” Gabriel asked, eloquently.

“I didn’t know that the two of you knew each other,” Newt continued, gesturing between Gabriel and Crowley and apparently completely glossing over the irony of his statement. Gabriel’s arm slipped from around Newt’s shoulders, arms crossing over his chest. “Have you hired him before? Makes sense. Crowley really knows how to handle a courtroom.” Newt appeared to be completely oblivious to the silence and the stares around him; Aziraphale wasn’t sure that Gabriel could look any more disgusted.

Aziraphale watched Crowley, the way he’d frozen in his chair, legs crossed at the ankles. An unpleasant churning started in Aziraphale’s stomach. Crowley owned a _flower shop_ . Why would Crowley have gone to school with Newt? It was entirely possible that they’d just happened to attend the same University; Aziraphale had never asked about Crowley’s educational background. Something about the whole conversation, the way Newt was acting, didn’t abate the unpleasantness Aziraphale felt. _“What?”_ Gabriel asked, voice rising in pitch.

Completely oblivious to the people around him, in particular Gabriel’s complete lack of composure, Newt barrelled on. “He’s one of the smartest guys I’ve ever met. We studied at Glasgow together. Last I heard he was picking up big Magic Circle cases in the city. London, I mean. Gosh.”

“You’re a _solicitor?”_ Gabriel hissed.

Throughout the conversation - which had really just been Newt expositing as if Crowley wasn’t even there - a frown had set into Crowley’s expression. He tilted his head as if regarding Newt for the first time. 

“Barrister if you want to be technical about it,” he answered Gabriel flippantly and with a halfhearted shrug. “Newt, right?” At Newt’s quick nod, Crowley continued, “I don’t remember you.”

With just a few words, Crowley had quickly doused the flame of Newt’s excitement. The smile dropped off his face, and his shoulders slumped. It reminded Aziraphale of every time he’d trying to fix a computer and failed. Aziraphale couldn’t find much sympathy for Newt to dredge up because of the way his own heart pounded, thudding against his throat until he choked. His head spun with questions, with concerns, but he couldn’t find a way to voice them. “Yeah, bit of a nobody compared to you, huh?” Newt swept a hand through his hair. “Uh, Gabriel, um.”

“Let’s go,” Gabriel paused, seeming to sense what Newt wanted to say, “over there.” He started the way across the lawn to where Michael was, staring.

“Sounds great. It was, uh, nice to see you again, Crowley. Aziraphale.” He forced a smile, sad at the corners, before following Gabriel. The only one that seemed oblivious to the tension was Sabriel.

Aziraphale’s head swam, but he was very aware when Crowley pulled away from him, not that Aziraphale stopped him. Even though he’d only known Crowley a few days, he felt strangely lied to, as if Crowley had been keeping something important from him. A small part of him couldn’t shake the resurface of the feeling that maybe Crowley had been a plant by his family. They’d made it quite clear over the last few years that they thought he needed to settle down, constantly trying to set him up with people well respected in the legal field; then Crowley had just shown up, just perfect for what Aziraphale needed. Who coincidentally was also a barrister.

From across the yard, he absently watched Crowley stalk by himself down across the ridge and toward the ocean. For half a moment Aziraphale contemplated heading out after him before deciding against it, heart aching. Instead, he stepped into the house, away from prying eyes.

* * *

Aziraphale didn’t know how long he’d spent in the library. He’d found it more comforting than his room where all of Crowley’s things were intermingled with his own, where they’d shared an intimate moment on the bed just the night before. No, Aziraphale wasn’t ready to handle that just yet, chest still aching with a sense of betrayal that he knew wasn’t necessarily founded. That didn’t make it any easier. 

The island had gone dark before he’d entered the library, and it was dark when he left. The hallway lights were off, and the house around him seemed still and quiet. Whatever had remained of the dinner party had long since ended, everyone off their separate ways to sleep. Aziraphale straightened his shoulders in determination, knowing that he needed to talk with Crowley, figure out just exactly what had been going on; it wouldn’t do to jump to conclusions. He’d rather felt the two of them had made a connection over the last few days, so it wouldn’t do to ignore what Crowley had to say for himself.

Quietly, Aziraphale pushed his way into the bedroom, feeling braver in the dark. “Crowley?” he asked, loud enough to be heard. The room remained quiet. Aziraphale swallowed, lips pursed and called Crowley’s name again. When the other man didn’t answer, Aziraphale turned on the light, determined to wake him to find the room empty save for himself.

Aziraphale frowned, the nervousness he’d been feeling quickly turning to a sickening emptiness. He wrung his hands together in front of him, stepping around the bed to find the room completely devoid of any signs of Crowley. _Any_ signs. The blankets had been neatly folded up, and the bag that he’d kept in the corner was gone. Aziraphale stepped up to the closet, pulling open the doors to find it empty. Crowley was gone, and he’d taken everything with him. He must have hopped on the last ferry off the island or was shacked up in a hotel. 

A burning feeling started behind Aziraphale’s eyes, and he took in a deep breath to calm himself down. It didn’t do much. He hadn’t even asked Crowley for a phone number; he had no way to try to contact him.

Flopping down on the bed, Aziraphale pulled a pillow close to his chest, willing away the burning in his eyes before he started to cry. He knew he was being absolutely ridiculous, feeling slighted by someone he’d barely even known. Someone who’d kept things from him. It didn’t matter how well they had clicked or how happy Aziraphale had been the last few days. The whole arrangement had been a big scam; it was probably for the best that it had ended the way it did. It meant that Aziraphale wouldn’t be caught up pining after Crowley for the next couple of months.

Besides. Crowley was probably happier that way. If the nightly phone calls from his _Ana_ were anything to go by, he was already taken. He’d probably been looking for a way to get back to her anyway. Newt had merely provided the perfect opportunity.

None of the rationalizations made Aziraphale feel any better.

Congested - _definitely_ not from crying - and feeling wholly miserable, Aziraphale dug through his own belongings until he procured his cell phone. He didn’t use it often, almost never powered it on, but he found himself doing it now, hitting his only speed dial before he even really processed what he was doing.

Sitting heavily back down on the bed, Aziraphale listened as the phone rang, half considering hanging up, except someone picked up before he was able. “Hello?” the female voice on the other end asked.

“Hello, Mother,” Aziraphale offered, perhaps a bit timidly. “It’s Aziraphale, I just-” Just what? Why had he even called? Even when he’d been doing it, he hadn’t really expected anyone to pick up. His mother _never_ answered.

“Aziraphale, darling,” his mother said, voice gone just a bit soft around the edges. It turned harder when she continued, still holding that undercurrent of affection that had Aziraphale smiling despite himself, “Your brothers aren’t causing you any problems, are they? I know you’re all at the house and how they can be. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to make it back again this year.”

“They’re not being any worse than they ever are.”

“Good. Now, I don’t mean to make it sound like I don’t want to talk to you, Aziraphale, but why are you calling? Gabriel and Michael call, but you don’t. Something must be twisting you all up.”

“I-” Aziraphale swallowed, pushing the tears aside with the heel of his hand. “I met someone.”

“Oh, I’m happy for you, Aziraphale!”

“He’s been - he’s been lying to me. About who he is. I’m just not sure what to think. What if he’s keeping other things from me? I’m not even sure if he even really liked me.”

“Did he lie to be malicious? To hurt you?”

“I don’t think so. It’s almost like he just. Forgot to tell me things.”

“You can hardly fault him if you didn’t ask, Aziraphale.” His mother’s tone was patient but edged with just a hint of reprimand. Aziraphale cringed just hearing it. “Maybe he was afraid of how you would react if he told you. I’m sure you have things you’re keeping from him as well; or maybe they’re things that you don’t feel are relevant. Whatever he lied to you about, maybe it was just,” she paused, “unimportant to him. Tell me about him.”

And so Aziraphale did.

He told her about their little trip to the Osborne House, the way he felt braver when Crowley was nearby, the utter shock on Gabriel’s face when the two of them had been introduced. He talked about Crowley’s kind-heartedness and how he pretended to be cool and aloof only to be caught teaching Sabriel about gardening.

“It sounds like you’ve found yourself quite the catch.”

“And if he doesn’t feel the same?”

“Aziraphale,” her tone was patient, “you’ve always been rather oblivious. He probably looks at you like you’ve hung the stars. Go _talk_ to him. It sounds like you should be calling him not me.”

“I, uh, I don’t have his phone number,” Aziraphale admitted, embarrassed. At some point he’d stopped crying, the churning pit in his stomach having turned to something less dire and more encouraged. 

“Of course not. Well, the two of you meet once before, you must have some way to contact him again when you’re back in London.”

“I, yes, I do, yes.”

“Good. Then do it, Aziraphale.”


	6. Day ++

The determination that he’d garnered over his telephone conversation lasted Aziraphale exactly five hours at which time he found himself stuck on a bus headed for London. He’d managed to - barely - catch the last ferry from the Isle with a hastily packed suitcase and a sense of relief that he wouldn’t have to try to explain any of this to the rest of his family. 

However, the long hours sitting and waiting and anticipating made him begin to doubt his own actions. It was entirely possible that Crowley wouldn’t want to hear anything he wanted to say. There were plenty of complications already in their relationship, beginning with the whole thing being a facade in the first place and ending with the woman Crowley called every night.

So, Aziraphale didn’t contact Crowley once he arrived back in London. A part of him had still wanted to; an unruly impulse that made him want to march down to Crowley’s flower shop and hash everything out, but all that time spent on public transport just sitting and thinking had made him hesitant. What if Crowley _had_ been looking for an excuse to leave the island? What if he didn’t ever want to hear from Aziraphale again?

Aziraphale opened his shop like usual on Monday morning and ignored the gnawing feelings of hurt and disappointment that he knew he’d caused himself. Thankfully, the bookshop kept him busy.

* * *

The bell above the door into the bookshop chimed lightly to let Aziraphale know he had another customer. The afternoon had been rather quiet, helped along by the smattering of rain London had been seeing all morning. Aziraphale had kept mostly in the back of the shop, reshelving books and rearranging a few things here and there, anything to keep himself occupied, but had been able to hear the rain hitting against the windows and old roof of the building.

“Is there anything I can help you - Oh!” Aziraphale’s words died in his throat as he turned the corner around a shelf, a couple of old volumes of Agatha Christie’s in his hands to find Newt standing and looking just terribly out of place in the centre of the shop. His eyes had been down on whatever paperbacks Aziraphale currently had out on one of the display tables, but they turned up sharply when he heard Aziraphale.

“Uh, hi,” Newt said, rather unimpressively, giving a small wave and smile.

Aziraphale could read his nervousness loud and clear and was both comforted by the fact that it matched his own and uncomfortable that he felt so out of place. They hadn’t seen one another since that incredibly awkward dinner party two weeks ago. “Whatever brings you to London?”

“Oh, uh -”

Newt didn’t get to finish because a woman rounded one of the shelves to stand next to him. She stood just below his height and slipped a hand into Newt’s. She gave Aziraphale a tight smile, seeming a bit strained, but Newt’s expression softened immediately when he looked at her.

And, oh, this had all been quite unexpected.

“We came to see you, actually,” the woman said. Her voice came out quite prim and proper. She took a step forward and stuck out her hand. Aziraphale fumbled with surprise, letting the books in his hand cascade rather inelegantly onto a nearby table to free up his hand to shake hers. “Anathema Device,” she said by way of introduction.

“Anathama–” Aziraphale frowned, before turning his smile back on politely. Aziraphale had always had a good memory. He knew instantly where he’d heard her name before, and felt an uneasy twisting in his stomach wondering what had brought her to the bookshop. If she hadn’t mentioned they’d come specifically for him, he would have wondered if this was all some large coincidence. “Pleasure,” he choked out.

Anathema’s eyes squinted just slightly before she smoothed out the lines of her face. “I doubt that.”

Aziraphale turned away to hopefully hide the colour he could feel in his cheeks. He set about righting the books that he’d nearly toppled when he’d fumbled them onto the table. “Something I could help you find?” Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to shoo them out as quickly as possible.

“Oh, we’re not looking to purchase,” Anathema breezed easily. “We came to talk to you about Crowley.”

“Ah, uh, yes? What about him?”

“Well, you must know, right?” Newt asked, sounding a bit shy and maybe a tad sheepish for extra measure.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” Aziraphale still hadn’t turned back to look at either of them instead shifting and reshifting the texts on the desk.

Even without looking at her, Aziraphale could practically feel Anathema’s eye roll. She communicated quite well non-verbally. “Practically spends his whole day writing ballads about you is what,” she snapped. She sounded less angry and more exasperated than anything. “I haven’t seen him like this in, well, in a long time. Practically dances around the shop singing about you when he’s not too busy moping in the backroom like someone just died. To be fair, he did that already, but now I think he actually cries sometimes. Actual tears. Hard to tell with the-” Anathema fluttered her hand in the air about her face, and Aziraphale wasn’t even sure when he’d turned to look back at her, feeling the tight draw of his brows.

It was actually rather comforting to know that Crowley hadn’t only worn his sunglasses around him.

“Ana works with Crowley, you see,” said Newt, deciding to jump back into the conversation, “at the flower shop? Down the street?” Newt seemed to flounder when no one replied to him. “Knows what she’s talking about is all,” he finished weakly.

“Yes, thank you, Newt.” Anathema gave Newt a solid pat. 

And with a stroke of remembrance, Aziraphale realised that Anathema looked just a bit familiar. She’d been the pleasant woman to take his order at the desk when he’d ordered the flowers for Margaret. He really had been quite scattered with worry that day, but Newt’s little bit of insight had jogged Aziraphale’s memory.

“You work with Crowley,” Aziraphale couldn’t help but confirm.

“Yes.”

“Well, I rather thought,” Aziraphale paused, mouth twisting up in an unpleasant frown, “well, it seems I may have jumped to a few conclusions.” Which, really, seemed quite obvious seeing her in the bookshop with Newt, hands entwined together. He suddenly wondered how long the two of them had known one another.

Anathema’s expression softened immediately. She pulled away from Newt to close the space between them, sitting down on one of the stools near the window and giving Aziraphale a quick couple pats on the hand. “I thought you might have. Crowley’s jumped to a few of them himself. Why don’t you sit down and tell me about it?” She indicated the other seat nearby. Hesitating, Aziraphale sat, hands shyly smoothing down the line of his pants. “Newt, would you bring us something to drink?”

“Uh, yeah, I can. Yeah.” Newt floundered around for a moment before Aziraphale directed him toward the kitchenette in the back room. It was there for when Aziraphale didn’t want to go all the way upstairs in the middle of the day to prepare himself something. 

When Newt had gone, Anathema focused her attention on Aziraphale. “Tell me about Crowley then,” she prompted.

Aziraphale felt his cheeks colour. “It seems you already know a great deal about him.” More than he did in all probability.

“I do,” Anathema wasn’t shy to confirm, “but I want to know about the two of you. How’d you meet?”

Tingling with embarrassment, Aziraphale took a great breath in, feeling his shoulders rise with the movement. Aziraphale told Anathema the whole story, sparing no expense. Aziraphale had always been a rather solitary person, and it was almost comforting to be able to express what he was feeling to someone who might understand. He became so enraptured in his own story, he didn’t even notice Newt come back into the room until he firmly slipped a cup of tea into Aziraphale’s hand. Anathema set about stirring hers, eyes remaining focused on Aziraphale as he spoke, gaze intense but not condemning.

“I just, well, I’d like to talk to him. Let him know that I’m not upset with him,” Aziraphale sighed. “Do you think perhaps he’d be interested in pursuing something more?” Aziraphale paused, embarrassed before blustering on. “This was all supposed to stay quite platonic, you see, I didn’t mean to, well-”

“It makes sense that you’d catch feelings,” Anathema admitted. “Crowley never stood a chance. He’s such a big softie. He’s liked you for a while now, you know.” A smile lit up Anathema’s lips. “Ever since you came into the shop. He was _fascinated_. Crowley doesn’t make arrangement for just anyone; he only works on the complicated pieces or the particularly moody brides-to-be. Or, people that come in he decides he fancies. He spent so much time on yours, and you weren’t even going to see it!”

“Do you think he’d want to see me? Certainly you’d know being as close as you are. He kept answering your calls when we were-” Aziraphale cut himself off, cheeks colouring. “So you must be.”

“He’d definitely like to see you,” Anathema assured him, giving his knee a quick pat. “He wanted nightly updates on the store,” she continued. “He’s such a mother hen. Didn’t seem to think I could watch the place by myself for a few days; seemed to think the plants would all up and die on him.” Anathema rolled her eyes, tone suggesting that it was a conversation they’d had quite often. “I am very comfortable as his shopkeeping wing-woman. And absolutely _nothing else_.” She placed a bit of emphasis on the end of her words, making Aziraphale squirm with embarrassment to be caught out so easily imagining what sorts of a relationship they had. 

“Would it be too forward of me to ask him to dinner?”

“Now?” Newt asked. He hadn’t found a seat, and had decided to stand near one of the bookshelves. He looked completely out of place, hands hanging loosely at his sides, glasses just slightly askew.

“Absolutely,” Anathema butted in, giving Newt a look that Aziraphale couldn’t see. She turned back to Aziraphale, setting her cup down on the windowsill. “Maybe not dinner, something smaller. We don’t want to give Crowley a heart attack just yet.”

“Lunch?”

“Lunch sounds perfect.” Anathema stood up, taking Newt’s hand. “We’d best be going. Crowley will wait a long time, but don’t make him wait too long.” Aziraphale just nodded.

* * *

Crowley didn’t feel comfortable in a lot of places. He liked to keep up his image of cool and collected, but he found himself unable to truly feel that same sense of peace that he exuded with the exception of a few select places. His car was the biggest one; Crowley never felt more relaxed than when he coasted down the A1 at 160. The only other place that Crowley ever felt completely calm was the shop. Despite the people trying to make up mistakes to their significant others and wedding planners with too much time on their hands and not enough common sense, Crowley felt himself relax immediately in the shop. 

Sometimes he felt himself showing up during the middle of the night to work on arrangements to tidy things up just for something to do when he couldn’t find peace in his flat. Ever since the _disaster_ that had been the last couple of weeks, Crowley had spent an ever-increasing amount of time in the shop, almost too afraid to go home to his empty flat and the crushing loneliness.

Not that Crowley would ever admit to being lonely.

He’d actually thought, for just a few days, that he’d actually had a chance with Aziraphale. The bookkeeper was soft and warm and didn’t seem to care about all the baggage that Crowley carried around with him. Too good to be true, honestly. He should have just told Aziraphale the whole truth up front; he’d probably never talk to him again.

Crowley heaved a heavy sigh, rubbing at his eyes, and pointedly not acknowledging how long it had been since he’d last slept. Working in the backroom had the perk of Crowley not having to wear his sunglasses while simultaneously not caring at all what he looked like. He knew he was far from his usual immaculate, had been for some time, dressed down in washed-out jeans, the front of his shirt competing with his hands for the amount of dirt they could accumulate. The process of repotting some of the new arrivals was hypnotic and routine in a way that made sure Crowley didn’t have to think too much about anything.

“Anathema!” Crowley shouted when he heard the little bell above the front door ring. It’d been mostly quiet all morning, Anathema had stepped out earlier for whatever reason - Crowley hadn’t really been paying attention to when or how long ago; he rather suspected she’d met someone, but hadn’t told him yet. She always came back in to deal with the customers when he called for her though, so he really didn’t care how she spent her work time when there weren’t customers. Frankly, Crowley knew she saved him from having to deal with the day to day of the shop so that he could focus on the things that mattered to him.

“Anathema,” Crowley called again, backing through the white backroom door with his hands up like a surgeon that had just sterilized them. He kept his body in the doorway to keep the door from closing, fully expecting to find Anathema sitting at the little picnic table around the back of the store like he did every other afternoon. Only, the yard was starkly deserted. Crowley frowned, the bell at the front desk chiming. “Coming!”

Crowley couldn’t help mumbling to himself as he set about washing his hands in the little corner sink. He wasn’t exactly presentable for customers, but at least his hair was tied back. Hopefully, he’d look at least a little put together. Maybe they wouldn’t notice. The sunglasses – thankfully – would be able to cover up the dark spots around his eyes that he hadn’t bothered to cover up this morning.

“Hullo!” Crowley greeted the room with forced cheeriness, stepped out from the back room and into the proper part of the shop. “How can I-?” Crowley’s words died in his throat, uncomfortably nervous when he saw Aziraphale perusing among his shelves. His back was to Crowley, dressed in the same tan colour scheme that Crowley always saw him in, but he turned around, expression lightening when he saw Crowley.

In response, Crowley ran his hands through his hair, gathering up the stray locks that had fallen out of place messily, hoping to tame them back into submission. He was sure the wetness of his hands just left shiny swipes; if he was lucky, they would cover up the greasiness. Crowley just hadn’t had the energy to wash his hair the last few days.

“Hello, my dear,” Aziraphale said quietly, soft smile on his lips. Unlike Crowley, he looked remarkably put together. Figured that Aziraphale wouldn’t feel too broken up about the whole thing, probably just there to give Crowley the money he thought he owed him even though Crowley had never been planning to take any of his money. There was no way he was there for any other reason, not after Crowley had _lied_ to him.

“What can I help you with?” Crowley asked, hoping his voice came out sounding anything close to the casual professional. “We’ve just ordered in a new batch of ivy. Great for hanging baskets in windowsills.”

“I’m sure they’re lovely,” was the only thing Aziraphale said, not even turning to look toward the windows. His entire attention was focused on Crowley who had decided to turn his entire attention on exactly everything _except_ for Aziraphale. “I was wondering,” Aziraphale continued, pausing, “if you’d be interested in having lunch tomorrow. There’s this quaint little restaurant a couple of streets down, easy walking distance, that I think you’ll just love-“

Crowley glossed over the – retrospectively – obvious nervousness of Aziraphale to ask, “You want to go to lunch. With _me?”_

“Ah,” Aziraphale eloquently replied, smile slipping away. “Yes. If you’re amenable, that is.”

“ _Me?_ ”

“Yes?” Aziraphale seemed - momentarily - at a loss for words. Not unexpected, in Crowley’s opinion. He couldn’t imagine in what scenario Aziraphale would actually be reaching out to him again for anything remotely good. “Well, you see, despite that our, uh, _arrangement_ was to be merely that, I find myself rather besotted with you. Completely unprofessional, I understand, but I’d rather hoped you’d feel the same way.” When Crowley didn’t answer, eyes gone wide and terribly confused, Aziraphale fidgeted, “Crowley, dear?”

“You’re _what?_ ”

Aziraphale’s fingers drummed uneasily together in front of him. “Have I perhaps misjudged? I’d rather felt, well, thought we were getting along well. I’d thought you felt the same, but I see now this has been a terrible misunderstanding. I’ll be going!” Aziraphale’s voice had turned sharp and utterly cheery. “Good luck with the flower shop! It’s all quite lovely.”

It wasn’t until Aziraphale reached the door, the little bell chiming again to signal his departure that Crowley’s brain came back online. It’d been quite stuck since Aziraphale had said he was _besotted_ in that endearingly old fashioned way of his but rebooted at the sound of the bell. All but vaulting over the counter to get to him, Crowley reached out to stop Aziraphale who turned to look at him with a surprised expression. Crowley drew back sharply, the wet imprint of his hand on Aziraphale’s nice coat, wiping the water away on his own already dirty jeans. “Uh, water, cause my hands, and the plants.” Crowley choked down his words. “Don’t go.”

A dawning look of hope came over Aziraphale’s expression at the same time that Crowley nervously dug his teeth into his lower lip. “Crowley, would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow?” he asked again, voice soft and extremely patient.

“Yes,” came the immediate reply.

“Lovely. Shall I stop by at-?”

“11:30. I take lunch at 11:30.”

“Wonderful.” Aziraphale smiled in a way that had Crowley’s insides melting. His frame was silhouetted in the light shining in from the glass windows, surrounding him in a golden glow. Crowley swallowed, vacillating between keeping his distance and reaching out to the other man.

Instead of doing either, he settled for a hushed out, “I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale’s beautiful expression twisted up. Crowley had expected to see anger or disgust there, but instead just found sympathy. Maybe a hint of affection that had his stomach churning. “You have nothing to apologise for, and even if you did, I’d forgive you.”

“I _lied_ to you,” Crowley protested, vehemently.

“You may have kept things from me, but you didn’t _lie_ to me. I certainly never asked. You were under no obligation to provide me with your life history.” One of Aziraphale’s hands gently closed around his elbow. “I would like to hear the story if you’re willing to tell it. Maybe we can take a seat?” He gave Crowley the gentlest tug toward the little patio set in the corner. The seating arrangement was there more for aesthetic purposes than functional. Gave the whole shop just that little added hidden garden feel that Crowley adored.

Aziraphale didn’t press, but he did go sit over on one of the two rustic metal chairs, making it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t begrudge Crowley whatever decision he made. After a couple of seconds of hesitation, Crowley followed, feeling bereft without Aziraphale’s hand on him. Weak.

“You were a barrister?” Aziraphale prompted.

“Yeah,” Crowley choked out, voice feeling rough. He sat down heavily opposite Aziraphale, avoiding the knowing blue gaze he felt on him. Aziraphale might not be pressuring, but Crowley could still feel the weight of the conversation on them even if Aziraphale had said he’d been - would be - forgiven. “Was for awhile. It all just became a bit too icky for me.”

“Icky?”

“Yeah!” Crowley could feel the beat of his heart in his throat, the wealth of unhappiness in his chest that he’d felt as he continued his barrister career in the later years. At the beginning, everything had been new and exciting, and he’d just done what he was told. After a while, it all just became so. Drab. Soul eating. “Didn’t want to advocate for shitty people doing shitty things anymore. Just wanted it all to stop.”

Aziraphale hummed, reaching across the space between them to offer his hand, palm up on the table in offering. Without thinking twice, Crowley took it, fingers laced together atop the glass tabletop. “So you decided to open this lovely flower shop.”

“So I decided to open this lovely flower shop,” Crowley mimicked in confirmation. He glanced around the shop, pulling off his sunglasses with his free hand, setting them on the table to see the shop in all its technicolored glory. “Plants don’t lie and cheat and kill people, well, usually,” he amended. “Much better than people, plants.”

Laughing softly, Aziraphale agreed, “I feel rather the same about my books.” Glancing at Aziraphale, wide-eyed, Crowley went to pull his hand away, but Aziraphale held tight, fingers tightening up around Crowley’s own. “Oh, my dear, I didn’t mean _you_. I find myself rather fond of you. Customers, however, are a different story.” The words were accompanied by a momentary scowl, as if Aziraphale had eaten something sour, before smoothing back over to his soft smile.

“Uh, yeah, right,” Crowley replied, feeling his cheeks burn until he looked away again, still feeling the wideness in his eyes. “Feeling’s mutual.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed, voice excited and affectionate. “That’s wonderful.” Aziraphale’s other hand closed overtop Crowley’s so that his right hand was trapped between Aziraphale’s on the tabletop; not that it was a bad place to be. His fingers stroked lightly over Crowley’s skin, making it tingle pleasantly, soothed. Voice softening, he added, “Thank you for telling me about all of this. You were certainly under no obligation to.”

“Eh,” Crowley shrugged. “Shoulda said something sooner. Wouldn’t have blindsided you that way.”

“Well, that’s all right. Everything perfectly dandy now.” Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale feeling a small smile tug at his lips. “Crowley, I was wondering if you would mind too terribly if I were to kiss you.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale, eyes following the movement of his hand atop Crowley’s own, the shy dusting of colour across his pale cheeks. “Please do,” he breathed, already leaning up and over the table to enter into Aziraphale’s space.

Aziraphale’s eyes darted up at the answer, meeting Crowley’s hazel ones, gazes caught for just a moment before he leaned in the extra bit to press his lips to Crowley’s. One of his hands reached up to cup the side of Crowley’s face, the other man leaning just slightly into the touch while fingers dug just the slightest bit into his hair. The kiss didn’t last long, just a quick and nervous - but not hesitant - brush of lips that left them both grinning dopily in the aftermath. It hadn’t been anything spectacular, but Crowley felt affection welling up in his chest, and through his starry eyes would have called it perfect.


End file.
